Show Me
by perplex777
Summary: FRIENDSHIP/Angst IF YOU READ THE FIRST CHAPTER ONLY  designed so it can stand alone as a friendship oneshot in which Merlin's magic is revealed – What other things are yet to be uncovered? Read AS A WHOLE then it's a LEMONy, SLASHy, ROMANCE/Angst fic.
1. Back Against the Tree

Hello. This is my second attempt at fan fic – my first attempt at some slash. Again, any and all criticism is welcomed. Please note: the **first chapter is designed so that it can stand alone as a Frienship/Angst oneshot **(2291 words – no overt slash – rated T because of bad language) in which Merlin's magic is revealed to Arthur. If you don't like slash or mature content then stop reading there. **When read as a whole it's a Romance/Angst story** (rated M because of content). If you do like slash the second chapter is (hopefully) heated; the third full-on lemon. I make no claims to owning Merlin.

**Show Me**

**Chapter 1 - Back Against the Tree**

Merlin watched his attacker's face crumple as Arthur plunged the sword into his back. He gasped out a, "Thanks," as Arthur spun and charged once more unto the fray. Merlin couldn't move – sprawled on the floor, winded.

There was just one man left to fight off. He watched as Arthur gracefully parried each blow – it was almost hypnotic to watch him fight – mesmerising. Honed and powerful, each thrust of his weapon was so purposeful that it became beautiful. A blow to the head caused his foe to fall to the ground, and the prince turned to his friend with a triumphant smile.

"Well don't just lie there Merlin, go and find the horses! It's about time you made yourself useful!" He was, of course, only half-serious, and his command was followed with a warm smile – Merlin had fought as well as a manservant could, and had once again managed to hold his own better than Arthur could have expected.

Merlin grinned back – then started – raised his arm.

His eyes glowed gold. And Arthur heard a grunt and a guttural gasp behind him. He turned to see his last opponent – sword in the air – spear in the stomach – falling to the ground.

At first it was impossible to comprehend what had happened. It was only when Arthur turned back to look at Merlin, stunned and seeking something known and intelligible, that he was met with the look of horror that had dawned on his companion's face, so that it was rendered suddenly strange. It aroused his own horror and he managed to spit out an appalled, "Magic!"

Merlin was still sprawled on the ground. Exposed. Aghast at what he'd revealed. "I'm sorry," he said, but Arthur barely heard him. Numb – whilst Merlin's words were almost a whisper as the dread that filled him stole the command of his voice. "I'm sorry," he managed again. He sounded hollow - broken.

Arthur couldn't stay there. He turned and ran. He couldn't bear to see Merlin – the one constant in his life – stupid, bumbling, idiotic, hilarious, loyal Merlin whose flashes of wisdom had always been shown to Arthur in his darkest moments when he most needed the advice of someone he could trust. He could trust Merlin – he did trust Merlin – he had trusted Merlin so many times. They had both proven they were willing to give their life to save the other. He had told him things in confidence that he had never told anyone. He couldn't bear to see Merlin – his one constant – now irredeemably changed – now hopelessly altered.

Arthur, overcome with grief, sank to his knees. He put his head to the earth as if it would absorb him and fill his mind with nothing – take away his thoughts – stay the comprehension.

Merlin was paralysed where he lay on the cold ground. He couldn't think of following. He couldn't think of anything. It was as if his mind had completely shut down. He was as still as the bodies Arthur had felled around him – struck down by the look of horror on Arthur's face.

Time passed. He couldn't be sure how much. He didn't care. He couldn't imagine ever moving from this place – couldn't think of any reason to move again, until he heard someone approaching.

"I thought I told you to find the horses," he heard someone who sounded like Arthur say, "or do you expect me to walk back to Camelot?" The voice was leaden. The shadow of his friend appeared between the trees wiping his sword clean.

Merlin scrambled up, his pale cheeks flushed red as he stared resolutely at the floor and set off to find the animals.

He didn't know what to think. He had not expected to see Arthur again, he had not expected anything. No, nothing more than to lie there, in that clearing, fading away to less than a memory as far as Arthur was concerned. Instead he had come back to him, in a sense – but distant and cold. It was inexplicable. Why had he come back? Perhaps once Merlin had found the horses he would ride off and obliterate him then.

They were grazing by the river, chewing the grass peacefully, dappled by sunlight when it broke through the clouds – so serene it made his heart ache as his mind was in tumult. He felt sick as he led them back to Arthur. Tears pricked his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose trying to force them away. He would not fail Arthur more than he had already done. How could he have let this happen? How could he have revealed himself before it was time? He couldn't expect Arthur to accept him. It disgusted him, to feel so viscerally that he had violated the friendship they had built when he laid bare what would otherwise be innate and natural. It was heinous to know that, in revealing a part of himself to the person closest to him, everything could be so devastated and sullied by simple truth. He had exposed himself and knew that he could only be spurned.

This time the prince said nothing, but began preparing his horse to ride. Merlin didn't know what to say or do – he wished he could just evaporate if that would make it easier for Arthur who was resolutely not looking at him. Then Arthur did look, and gave him such a look that it withered him where he stood. But he could read nothing in it – no sense of what he should do or say – or if he should act in any way at all. What could he do? It was unfathomable – because he knew it was impossible that he was to return to Camelot, and yet... And yet hope prickled under his thumb nails – enough that electrified uncertainty bore unbearable suspense. It was too tense – too much to bear. He had to ask.

"Do you think we should talk about what just happened?" he barely managed to utter – busying himself with saddlebags to avoid Arthur's gaze. So he was taken off guard when Arthur grabbed him by the neck of his shirt and half-dragged half-lifted him across the clearing until he was pinned against a tree unable to avoid the burning blue gaze of his master. As he was forced to face the anger there, and felt its throbbing force, it dawned on him that he hadn't just lost his life as he knew it, but Arthur had it in his power to end his life altogether.

"Why?" he bellowed. "Why did you have to do that!"

"I'm sorry."

Arthur's voice cracked as he asked, "Why?" again, his fists bunching the cloth of Merlin's shirt, his forehead pressed against Merlin's own as he breathed deeply.

"I'm sorry," Merlin whispered.

It wasn't enough. Arthur shoved him harder against the tree, channelling his pain into causing it.

And suddenly Merlin didn't know what was wrong with him because he was angry too, and shoved Arthur back – hard – so that he was released in surprise, and Merlin had to scramble to find his feet. "Oh! So you'd rather I'd have let him slice your head open would you?"

"Don't be stupid," he growled through gritted teeth. "Despite how you generally appear you're not an idiot. You're clearly more cunning than I've ever given you credit for so, go on, explain yourself. What lie have you got prepared?"

"Well, it was reveal my magic or let you die. I can't pretend I thought about it much," he shouted. Getting right up in Arthur's face, he challenged him, "So you'd rather be dead? Well? Would you?"

"Yes!"

Merlin cuffed him round the head, and gave him a shove.

Arthur caught his wrist. "Don't," his voice dropped to a menacing whisper, "EVER do that again!"

"You deserved it!"

"How dare you! You use magic in front of me and then you have the audacity to hit me" His words were almost a snarl.

"You're a prat! You're the crown prince – and you say you'd rather die than witness your friend use magic. There's something wrong with you. You are perverse!"

"Wrong with me? You're a fucking sorcerer!"

"So? What of it! There's nothing wrong with it – nothing evil – it's natural. If your father hadn't poisoned your mind you'd see that." Merlin was rammed into the tree again. "It's me Arthur. Arthur... it's _me_!"

"Bastard! Who the fuck _are_ you? Because you're not my friend," he menaced. "You've betrayed me. You _lied_ to me. I trusted you, and you betrayed me!" He had let go, sagging with emotion, staring with raw wounds instead of eyes. He shoved at Merlin in anger.

Frustrated Merlin shoved back. Desperate, "I saved your life!"

And they tussled and wrestled to the ground, swiping at each other, rolling around in the fallen leaves, each trying to gain the upper-hand, dealing blows. Arthur was obviously the stronger, although Merlin was agile and held his own for a while.

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A chill ran down his spine. Arthur found himself straddling a lifeless Merlin – staring at the man he had knocked out, at the bleeding lip, at the boy who felt cold to the touch. Merlin, pale at the best of times, was now sallow and grey. Concern flooded all other feelings. He slapped his cheek and called his name to no avail. "Merlin! Merlin God dammit! Wake up Merlin! Merlin can you hear me?"

Now they were still, he felt that it was raining. They hadn't noticed the gathering clouds, or the first drops. Their clothes were already damp and so he picked Merlin up and carried him in his arms to a hollow to prevent him from becoming completely soaked. Arthur was surprised at how light he was – he was as tall as he, taller in fact, and yet slight. But not fragile. Though Arthur had called him a girl countless times, this was a man in his arms, with muscles and a strength that was belied by the appearance of his frame. Feelings of guilt began to join those of concern as Merlin continued to remain lifeless.

Lying by his side, he tried once more to rouse him, shaking him gently and tapping his cheek. He was anxious to see that the colour did not rise and his cheek remained as white and as cold as marble. "Merlin. _Come on_ Merlin," he called again plaintively, before feeling suddenly drained, and lying exhausted and shattered next to his friend. Stupid, bumbling, idiotic, hilarious, loyal, wise, dear Merlin – his daily companion – his best-friend. He had had moments like this before – when Merlin had been away or withdrawn – when it had occurred to him that Merlin had filled a gap in his life that he had never realised existed before his arrival. He could never have imagined a manservant being important to him, beyond fulfilling the various little daily tasks that Merlin had initially been so poor at performing. Had someone told him that he would befriend a servant more closely than he had befriended any of his knights – that he would grow to love a commoner-boy such as the one that lay next to him now, beaten by his treacherous hands, he would have laughed in their face. And yet, it was true. Merlin had worked his way into Arthur's heart so that it was impossible now to imagine life without him.

"Why did you have to do that Merlin? Huh?" he asked, all of the animosity drained from his voice. "Why did you have to save me? I wouldn't have had to face this!" It was a few more minutes of silence, save for the sound of the rain dripping through the leaves, before he added. "I wouldn't have had to lose you." He stroked the hair from his manservant's brow and found the action oddly comforting. He continued, combing through the dark hair, focusing on the sensation of the soft strands running between his splayed fingers. Losing himself in the sensation of contact rather than the consternation of thought.

He took off his cloak and laid it over the lifeless body, and placed his gloves beneath the boy's head to lift if from the cold ground. Then he lay next to him again and waited – praying for some change in the man.

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The sun had set long before, and the men were now bathed in the light of the fire. The fire crackled merrily, so Arthur hated it.

Eventually Merlin's steady but shallow breathing became more uneven, and his eyelids began to flutter. "Arthur," he moaned.

The overwhelming relief! It was only as his taught muscles uncoiled, as he was liberated from his state on anxiety, that Arthur recognised the alteration his emotions and fears had affected upon his frame of mind.

"It's alright Merlin," he said gently, stroking the hair from his forehead once more, "I'm here."

Merlin smiled and sighed comfortably, still groggy and responding to sensations, the warmth of the fire, the caress of the fingertips, the warmth of his friend's body so close at hand; but then his brow furrowed as he remembered. "Arthur?"

"Merlin, try not to move too much just yet," he said pushing Merlin back down gently as he had tried to sit up.

"But…" he trailed off unable to vocalise what he was thinking.

"It's alright. I'm not angry anymore. We can talk about it tomorrow. Just lay still for a while."

A little later, as dawn was breaking, Arthur turned to him and asked him if he thought he could manage to ride. And so they returned to Camelot. They did not speak. As they left the stables Arthur said, "Get some rest, we have a great deal to talk about tomorrow."


	2. Light the Fire

Have you ever played with magnets? Just a brief bit of basic physics: Magnets have two poles. Like poles repel each other – opposites attract. But if you hold two like poles together, even though they push each other away, you can feel the connection between them. Hopefully that will illuminate some of the imagery... Remember if you don't like slashy Arthur/Merlin pairings then don't read this or the next chapter! Once again, I make no claims to owning Merlin.

**Show Me**

**Chapter 2 – Light the Fire**

They hadn't talked about it. They hadn't talked about it for days. Nor had they forgotten – the bruises wouldn't allow that. Merlin's ears always burned bright red when Arthur was near. He had become even clumsier – they both had. Armour, books, goblets, and all manner of things would clatter to the floor as both men became awkward within their own bodies. They had barely looked at one another since _then_. All their exchanges were as brief and perfunctory as possible.

"You're breakfast sire."

"Thank you. You may go."

Painfully formal. They did not touch. The charge between them was almost palpable as the like poles repelled – the magnetism that meant the closer their bodies came together the greater the force that made them spring apart.

Arthur crashed open the door, silhouetted in the frame as it swung open. Merlin looked up from where he was crouched by the fireplace and knew instantly that he'd been drinking. Merlin had too – finishing off the flagon of wine Arthur had barely touched as he had wolfed down his dinner. Yet still the atmosphere was soup-thick with unspoken words and unabated tension.

"Merlin? What are you doing here?"

"I thought you might be cold sire. I had thought you were to stay longer at the feast and was going to warm the room in preparation for your return. I was about to light the fire."

Arthur was still in the doorway; Merlin crouched in the far corner, in the shadows of the candlelight. Neither moved. Neither said anything.

Starting to get cramp is his leg, Merlin stood. "Would you like a fire sire?"

Arthur said nothing – his expression was unreadable. Without taking his eyes off Merlin, he stepped inside the room, closed the door behind him, and leant against it.

"Yes."

Merlin gave a small nod, before busying himself setting and kindling the fire, watched in silence from the door. He built it up into a blaze, and stood once more. "Is there anything else I can do for you sire?" It suddenly occurred to him, in the pregnant silence that followed, that it was remarkable how quickly he'd become accustomed to using this formal greeting only as it was intended, without undercurrents of anything other than deferential respect. How things had changed. That such a gulf could have opened – that such a distance could exist when they were in such close proximity – had been unthinkable just days before. And now he might as well have been on the other side of a yawning chasm from Arthur, as in the same room.

Arthur seemed to contemplate him as he lurched away from the door, and eased his way around the room to sit at his table. Merlin, rooted to the spot, followed his progress, turning in time with his movements so that his eyes never left Arthur's face.

Arthur's thoughts were unfathomable as he regarded Merlin from his chair. His silence was setting Merlin on edge. The prince spake nothing, and yet Merlin felt as though Arthur was screaming, shouting out – if he could just but hear!

"I want you..." he began, so quietly that if Merlin hadn't been listening so hard he would have been inaudible. The "...to" was lost. Arthur seemed to quake. Merlin blushed crimson.

He began again, more solid this time. "Show me."

It took Merlin a heartbeat to understand, and another to make certain. He couldn't pretend not to comprehend – Arthur would have seen through that in a second. And what would be the point?

Merlin stepped forward into the light, facing the prince, trying to gain some control over _this_ new exposure. The gulf between them closed a little as Arthur understood the question in his eyes. "Are you sure?" they said, "are you sure that you want me to do this?"

His own replied simply, "Do it." And the rift closed a little more.

Without taking his eyes from Arthur's, he slowly raised his hand to his mouth. "_Forb__æ__rnan_," he whispered, eyes flashing gold. Arthur did not recoil as he had expected. Merlin closed his hand, making a fist.

Arthur stood , and drew closer until he was less than an arm's length away, his eyes still on Merlin's, once again the comforting blue he was used to. Merlin carefully extended his arm, and then, slowly, unfurled his fingers to reveal the flame dancing on his palm. Merlin focused only on the face, inches from his own, that was suddenly illuminated by the flickering light of his spell, so that he could see it more clearly than he had done in what felt like eons. He searched that face for fear or revulsion. He could not find any.

Arthur wrenched his gaze from the flames and returned to Merlin, so different from how he had looked in the aftermath of his last demonstration of magic. No horror. No fear. Instead an intoxicating mix of vulnerability and strength. He had an enthralling confidence that was only diminished by his trepidation over how Arthur would react.

Arthur was not conscious of his reaction, only that the seeing Merlin's flame seemed to have ignited something within him. Something that coiled and licked like the fire before him. His whole body flushed white hot, his nerves suddenly alight, his senses felt heightened, inflamed. But his stomach felt cold, like ice, only amplifying the heat of the rest of him. And as the look in Merlin's eye closed the gap between them completely, the ice melted in a surge, and he was completely aflame, tingling at the extremities, and thumping at the heart.

Merlin was suddenly, acutely aware that this was the closest they'd been for days. The closest they had been, and for the longest time. He flicked the fire away at the wrist. The strange magnetism that had seemed to thrust them apart whenever they had come close to touching, seemed now to have reversed. He felt a pull towards Arthur stronger than anything he had experienced before. It was tangible. It was liberating despite drawing them relentlessly together. Liberating because it meant they were friends again, as they were meant to be. Friends, and more than that. It was tangible. It was relentless. It was hope and love and need.

Arthur was burning for him, and Merlin was breathing himself ever closer. Merlin's expression was heart-racingly intense.

Merlin was scorching him with a searingly lustful kiss. Urgent. Needful. Heated. Hands and fingers – searching – worshiping. Bodies – pressing into one another. Arthur scrabbling at their shirts. Too restricted. Wanting to feel more skin. Too many layers, yet their chests bound to be hotter. Merlin! Merlin pressing him, piloting him, to the wall. Kissing him into it.

They parted – panting for air.

Some of their urgency dissipated. Merlin's lips were more tentative, Arthur's grip on his neck more tender.

Arthur had a new quest – to explore Merlin. And Merlin was exploring him. Kisses feathering the strong line of his jaw. Sucking his neck. Arthur's fingertips scoring Merlin's back under his shirt– electrifying his ears as they gently navigated the curves.

Tangling their fingers together, Merlin pinned Arthur's hands above his head, nibbling, and kissing, and licking his way along the length of his collar bone and then back to his mouth, stealing a kiss – just nipping teasingly at the lips – making Arthur strain for him. The tight grip of their entwined hands softening as Merlin allowed his kiss to be captured again – Arthur's tongue inviting his way into Merlin's mouth, while their hands frisk one another once more.

Suddenly Arthur is no longer against the wall. His hand is on Merlin's cheek, tilting his chin, forcing him to look into his eyes, unnecessarily, as the force in his gaze compelled him to meet it regardless. Both were breathing heavily, catching their breath. Merlin felt himself tremble with the intensity of it all, as it dawned on him what they had just done, what he had done in front of, with, to Arthur; completely exposed, every secret laid bare, secrets he had not fully realised himself – his passion for Arthur – now raw and in the open. More vulnerable, as his body forced him to confront a smothered desire he'd never named or acknowledged, he quaked as he looked into the prince's eyes – the look so intense that he almost baulked from meeting it – his mind reeling from attempting to read what it said.

"How long?" Merlin knew he did not mean the magic.

"I didn't... I," he rushed, before adding quietly, "I don't know." His mind recoiled as treacherous mouth asked tentatively, almost inaudibly, "You?"

"I don't know either."

They stood in silence, eyes searching each other, as they struggled to comprehend the momentous shift in their relationship.

Merlin dared not allow himself to think, to hope. His lips, his back, his ears held the proof – may have been insisting, now, as they remembered his touch – that he was more to Arthur than he had ever imagined – but that did not mean anything. Arthur could choose to constrain his yearning.

"Arthur..." He faltered, hesitating. He couldn't speak, and yet he had to ask... so he kissed him again, softly, chastely, reverently, waiting to feel him pull away, lingering a hair's breadth from his lips when he didn't. He whispered, "I love you."

Arthur kissed him rapturously by way of reply, before adding a fervent, "I love _you_," for good measure.

They grinned at each other, in a comfortably familiar way. Merlin, joyfully confident now, became wickedly teasing, trailing a finger sensuously along Arthur's cheek. "Well... goodnight _sire_." He brushed against him as he made his way to the door, readjusting his neck-scarf. It felt so good to hear Merlin say sire like that, instead of the stupidly formal way to which he'd become accustomed in the last few days.

Merlin, turned to him. The look in his eyes stilled Arthur who had been about to chase after the young warlock who had not gained his permission to leave, and who should be in his arms again already. Merlin was suddenly serious again. "You know Arthur... I'm happy to be yours... till the day I die." The solemnity with which he uttered these words made Arthur's breath hitch, his heart leap. His skin was still ablaze with the memory of his touch. And then Merlin was gone.

Arthur threw himself onto his bed, euphoric, beaming with the strength and novelty of these new feelings, dizzy with the anticipation of exploring them. There was no rush – they had a lifetime...

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That was my first attempt at slash fiction – so if you have any comments – positive or negative – they would be both welcome and appreciated!

The third chapter is to follow – I'm part-way through – just tussling with my attempts at making the lemon good...


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